


Ticking Clock

by Constellatius



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Birthday Presents, First Kiss, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Pie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Constellatius/pseuds/Constellatius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is surprised on his birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ticking Clock

The clock strikes twelve on Friday the 24th of January and Dean Winchester is alone.

His brother and his angel are back at the bunker, no doubt sleeping or watching Elementary. Cas would love Sherlock, Dean can picture his face, lips smoothed into a small smile and his head tilted at the references. Sam has a crush on Lucy Liu, and has since he was 13. Dean wishes he was with them; he wants to fall asleep with his head on Cas’s shoulder and the angel’s arm sliding around his waist with a confused expression. He wants Sam to coo at them and rouse Dean from his nap for a cupcake with a candle. Dean wants his family.

Instead, he waits for the clock to tick past twelve.

Dean waits and waits. No birthday messages off Charlie, he doubts she will get signal in Oz. Garth is on a case, Kevin dead because of him. He expected one off Cas. The angel who rescued him from hell, the being who had saved him a thousand times would remember his birthday. He thinks Cas is just as disappointed in him as he is in himself. A tear rolls down his cheek.

Thoughts crowd his head, they scream loudly, banging against the side of his skull. Even the pillow over his ears does little to drown out the noise. Dean reaches for the bottle of Jack, he hates the stuff but in a pinch, it will have to do. He slides under the covers, phone slid under his pillow with the demon knife.

He flicks the telly on, glad he sprung for a motel that charges by the night rather than by the hour. He shivers the comforter threadbare and smelling like mothballs, offers little protection from the icy bite in the air or the wrongness, the chill inside himself. The outdated telly flickers to life.

As the clock hits 12:35 Dean Winchester falls asleep with tears on his cheeks.  

\-------------------------------------------

Dean wakes up for the third time that day, it is still his birthday as he looks to the clock. His joints crack as he stretches his weary limbs. He aches from cramped conditions in his baby, she is home but Dean is far too tall to lie comfortably in the back seat.

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes, hands sticky with last night’s Jack. He hears the lock being picked, the sound of tumblers falling into place. He has missed the checkout time, Dean is surprised that no house cleaners or owners have come knocking angrily at his door.

Dean reaches for his knife, his body sluggish with a hangover. Massaging his temples, fragments of his dream come rushing back. He sees Cas’s eyes, deep as an ocean as they smile at him, Cas’s lips are crooked into an awkward smile, his warm palm pressed against his. He finds himself smiling at the memory, his hand twitches around the ghost of Cas’s.

A slur of broken words, hiccoughed though tears. He must have prayed to Cas last night. A heartfelt plea of loneliness. He hopes the angel didn’t hear him, that Dean’s sleep drunk tongue called out the wrong name. He doesn’t deserve the comfort of the angel. Cas is better off staying away.

The door springs open. Dean is on his feet, immediately capturing the burglar in a chokehold, his knife pressed tight against their neck.  Eyes blurring from the sudden movement, his stomach revolts against his movement.

‘This is not the welcome I was expecting.’

Dean drops the knife; it falls to the floor with a clatter. His arms loosen, resting peacefully on Cas’s shoulders. The angel rests against Dean’s chest; they stay in a strange parody of intimacy for a few seconds. Dean holds the dark haired angel close, Cas turns his head slightly, Dean’s scruff scratches over perpetual bed hair. Dean breathes deep in the safety of the hold.

Cas tilts his head up to meet Dean’s. Dean blinks down at him. If he leans down now he would be able to capture Cas’s lips in his. Dean forces himself out of the hold; he ignores the hurt look falling over the angels face. Cas turns around, capturing his eyes in a move learnt from Dean.

‘What are you doing here Cas?’ Dean asks he knows he is being an ass. His tone is harsh, especially after Cas had come all this way for him.

‘I heard you pray.’ Cas says, his honey whiskey voice curls around Dean, dragging him closer. Dean steps forward, his bare feet touching the damp leather of Cas’s sensible shoes. Cas smiles down at his feet.

‘Cas, you should go, I am nothing but…’

Cas launches forward shutting him up with a kiss, Dean sucks in a surprised gasp. His body tight, rigid until Cas’s hands come to rest on his hips. He melts into the kiss, his lips moving against Cas’s chapped cupid bow lips. He greedily swallows every little noise Cas makes. His arms wrapping around Cas’s neck. His feet step on Cas’s, hips slotting together, chests pressed together. He can feel each breath the angel takes, air tickling his nose. He moans as Cas pulls away, his arms tightening, unwilling to lose this closeness.

‘I will have no more of your self deprecations. Dean Winchester you are wonder.’ Cas whispers, he kisses Dean’s forehead.

Dean falls forward, Cas holding him up. He head rests on his shoulder, arms folded around Cas. He feels fingers carding through his hair. Dean nuzzles into him, he feels warm for the first time since he left the bunker.

‘I brought you something.’ Cas says, breaking the spell over them. Dean looks around the room, excited like a child. He has always liked presents. Cas makes no move to reveal what he brought. He stands with his hands still on Dean’s waist.

Blue eyes track Dean’s tongue as he nervously traces his lips. Cas raises his fingers to the blonds cheeks. His fingers dance over the freckles decorating his cheeks. Dean feels blood rush to his cheeks painting them a pastel pink. Cas cups his cheek, angling him for a chaste kiss.

Their lips meet in silence. Dean’s eyes flutter shut, neither of them make a move to deepen the kiss. Dean hasn’t ever had a kiss like this. He feels the world fall of his shoulders, Cas’s thumbs stroke away the self-loathing and hatred. His gentle touch has Dean turning into a puddle of goo beneath his fingers.

Cas pulls away with a small crooked smile on his face but it might as well be a megawatt grin. Dean can’t stop himself from smiling. For the first time since he got here he really looks at the Angel.

Cas is wearing a plaid shirt and jeans under his trench coat, Dean recognises the shirt as his, left pocket slightly torn and the top two buttons missing. It hangs large off Cas’s frame exposing his collar bones. Arousal streaks through Dean, he has a sudden urge to suck raspberry bruises into Cas’s unmarred skin.

Cas smirks at him, obviously having heard Dean’s thoughts. Dean isn’t even annoyed that the angel is in his head. He is just glad he is here.

‘Close your eyes.’ Cas’s says.

‘Why?’

‘I am told it is human tradition.’ Cas explains, ‘close your eyes.’ He repeats, laughter evident in his voice.

Dean closes his eyes with a dramatic roll. He squeezes them shut causing crow’s feet at the sides. He feels giddy like a child about to receive a pony.

‘Hold out your hands.’ Cas instructs.

Dean unfolds his hands. He holds them palm up and steady. He feels something warm rest in his hands.

‘Open your eyes.’ Cas whispers into his ear, the closeness sends shivers down Dean’s spine. Cas’s arm wraps around his waist, he peppers kissed over Dean’s neck as his eyes flutter open.

He sees a warm apple pie in his hands, the steam curls from the flaking pastry, a lopsided candle sticks out of the middle. Dean’s heart clenches in his chest. Cas’s soft lips and scratchy stubble glide over his cheeks. Cas places his lips close to Dean’s ear.

‘Happy birthday Dean,’ he whispers.


End file.
